This Damned Rabbit Hole Poem by Jack Shimmin

I fear I am alone in this light, chosen to be salvaged from a somewhat functioning machine; it seems this perception will only ever see blight, a warped vision of a gleaming scene.

The dark gives rise to the glow, without its equal it would be hollow; but we never want to stay always wanting to go, ignoring the blue and taking the red to swallow.

Scribbling over art is to destroy? Why are so many canvases war torn; we are not in the times of Genghis Kahn and Troy, our hands cannot join to form against what we have all against sworn?

Allowing time to squander, we need no more time to ponder; we have hands to drive motivations, voices are not solely for accusations, take a look at the implications.